Signed To Be His Wife - Chapter 19: Chapter 19

The city of Paris never slept.
Not even when it trembled beneath the weight of secrets that threatened to crumble its most elegant facades.
Amara stood on the balcony of a luxury apartment, gazing at the Eiffel Tower in the distance. The glow of the city lights felt deceptive—too beautiful to house the monsters they were hunting.
Dominic entered from behind her, holding a small velvet box.
“You’re not going to propose, are you?” she teased, offering a half-smile.
“Tempting,” he replied, but his voice was serious. “But this isn’t a ring.”
He opened the box to reveal a silver locket—Elena’s locket. Inside was a microchip, smaller than a fingernail.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“Elena’s biometric key. Her part of the server unlock. Tamara decrypted it last night. The signature is valid, still active.”
Amara touched the locket reverently. “One half of the door.”
He nodded. “Now we need the other half—Victor’s. And we have four days to get it before the gala.”
Operation SÉRAPHIN was the most dangerous plan they had attempted yet.
It required Amara and Dominic to attend the gala disguised as foreign philanthropists. Tamara would infiltrate the security grid. Nolan would coordinate the extraction team. And Juno would prepare the blackmail material needed to leverage Victor’s allies should things go wrong.
It was reckless.
It was brilliant.
And it had to work.
Because if they failed, they’d lose not just evidence—but any chance of forcing Gideon out of hiding.
The night before the gala, Amara couldn’t sleep.
She walked through the dark corridors of their safehouse, clutching a file of Elena’s last journal entries.
Words like Atlas, traitor, and Dominic doesn’t know were scribbled in red ink.
A part of Amara had always wondered: was Dominic telling her everything? Or did Elena take secrets to her grave that not even he knew?
She found Dominic in the living room, typing on a laptop.
“You’re up late,” she said.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
She sat across from him. “Elena was going to reveal Project Atlas before she died.”
He paused. “I know.”
“She didn’t trust everyone around her.”
“She had good reason.”
Amara leaned in. “Do you think she would’ve approved of me?”
Dominic looked at her. “She didn’t choose you. I did. But I think she would’ve liked you. You’re everything she was... and more.”
GALA NIGHT – THE LOUVRE, PARIS
The gala was a masquerade.
Diamonds sparkled beneath crystal chandeliers, and violins played as the world’s richest and most dangerous gathered in one grand hall.
Amara wore a blood-red gown with an ivory mask. Dominic wore a black tux and a silver-lined mask. They looked every bit the part of powerful strangers.
Victor Legrand arrived late—flanked by men in tailored suits and women with smiles that didn’t reach their eyes.
Amara’s heart thundered in her chest as she laid eyes on him for the first time.
He was older than his photos—ruthless elegance cloaked in civility. His eyes scanned the crowd like a wolf waiting to pounce.
Tamara’s voice buzzed in Amara’s ear. “He’s heading toward the exhibit wing. Now’s your chance.”
Dominic offered his arm. “Ready?”
Amara nodded. “Let’s get what we came for.”
Inside the Egyptian exhibit, Victor examined an ancient pharaoh mask behind glass. Amara approached with grace, her heels silent on the marble floor.
“A man who admires the dead,” she said softly. “How poetic.”
Victor turned slowly. “And you are?”
“An admirer of power,” she replied.
He smiled faintly. “Aren’t we all?”
Dominic joined them, his tone polite. “Mr. Legrand. It’s a pleasure.”
Victor extended a gloved hand. “And who might you be?”
“Mr. and Mrs. Delacroix,” Dominic said smoothly. “From Monaco.”
Victor tilted his head. “Investors?”
“Visionaries,” Amara replied. “With secrets to trade.”
Victor’s gaze sharpened. “Do you now?”
“Enough to make your name rise or fall.”
In the surveillance van outside, Tamara whispered, “Keep him talking. I’m thirty seconds from syncing his biometric reader.”
Dominic casually produced a phone. “We came across something unusual, Victor. A file. Atlas.”
Victor’s smile faltered. “That’s an old myth.”
Amara leaned in. “So were you. Until you buried your competitors and rewrote the rules.”
Tamara’s voice cut in: “Got it. Biometric sync locked. His fingerprint, retinal ID, and voice signature—uploaded.”
Amara smiled. “We’re very good at rewriting stories too.”
Victor’s eyes narrowed. “Who are you really?”
Dominic turned to him. “The end of yours.”
Victor reached into his jacket—
—but Nolan appeared from the shadows, his gun discreet but ready.
“I wouldn’t,” he warned.
Victor lowered his hand.
Amara leaned in one last time. “Zurich. We’ll be waiting.”
Back in the safehouse, Tamara danced around the tech console. “We got it. Victor’s digital signature. And the coordinates match the Zurich server’s encryption lock.”
Dominic slumped into a chair. “Then it’s time to contact Gideon.”
TWO DAYS LATER – MONTENEGRO
The coast of Kotor was quiet, foggy, and hauntingly beautiful. Nestled between the mountains, an abandoned villa overlooked the sea.
Amara and Dominic waited inside with the burner phone Juno had provided.
At precisely 3:00 p.m., it rang.
A distorted voice answered. “This better be worth my grave.”
“Gideon,” Amara said, “we have both keys.”
There was silence. Then:
“Meet me at the cemetery above the cliffs. Come alone. Midnight.”
At midnight, Amara climbed the winding path above Kotor’s sea cliffs, moonlight guiding her way.
A figure waited beneath a crumbling angel statue.
Tall. Hooded. Silent.
“You came alone,” he said.
“Because I trust you want the same thing: to end Atlas.”
Gideon lowered his hood.
His face was sharp, haunted. “I watched Elena die. I watched the tapes over and over. I couldn’t stop it. But I can finish what she started.”
He held out a hand. Amara gave him both chips.
“It won’t take long,” he said. “But once we access the Zurich server... there’s no going back. Every name. Every crime. It will all burn.”
Amara met his eyes. “Then light the match.”